


I Don't Smoke

by rmayuscula



Series: Last Words of a Shooting Star [3]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Angst, Break Up, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29760627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rmayuscula/pseuds/rmayuscula
Summary: He loves Jord, loves him the most. But not enough to let himself be wrecked by him, to be kicked to the curb like a dog, like his parents did to him. To be used by him, like he has been before. He’ll stay here.“I could wait too. You could come back.”
Relationships: Aimeric/Jord (Captive Prince), Aimeric/Jord/Laurent (Captive Prince)
Series: Last Words of a Shooting Star [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2180028
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	I Don't Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: implied eating disorders and drug use.
> 
> Yes, this is still going. I'm sorry.

Aimeric knows that something is wrong the moment that Jord walks into the apartment, and he knows that Laurent knows it too. Jord sits at the comically small dining table and doesn’t look them in the eye. Laurent bookmarks the book he’s reading and stands up from the mattress, rests his right hand on one of the table’s chairs.

“What now, Jord?” He’s using his cold voice while gazing down at the man, not bothering to turn his head, so Jord will be forced to look up if he wants to catch Laurent’s eye.

“The position in Marlas cleared up. I’m taking it.”

“Fuck.” Laurent shakes his head and takes the step and a half that separates the table from the kitchen. Kitchenette, Aimeric would call it. He takes a lighter out of the single drawer, grabs a coat from the hooks behind the door.

“ _Laurent_.” Aimeric will beg, if that’s what Laurent wants, needs, he will. He doesn’t want to do this, not right now.

“I’m just going up to the roof.”

“Laurent.”

“You two should talk.” And he walks out. Slamming the door. Aimeric closes his laptop and turns towards Jord.

“I’m sorry.” Jord looks it. All slumped shoulders and downturned eyes, he seems older like this, worn down. Aimeric wants to kneel at his feet and plead, or to push him out of the apartment and kick him down the stairs.

“Why?”

“Am I not supposed to be sorry?” He’s trying to play dumb and clearly, doesn’t need to pretend. Aimeric won’t be pushed around, left behind like scuff under a shoe. He won’t let him go easily, not if he can help it.

“Why?” Jord clenches his jaw at Aimeric’s sharp tone, looks away from him, trailing his fingers on the table’s plywood, “Is it because Laurent won’t fuck you?” That’s a very Laurent thing to say, and if there is something that has always hurt Jord the most, it’s Laurent’s ever so cutting choice of words. And Aimeric has learnt from the very best. “Or is it because you’ve already fucked me?”

“Aimeric, please.” Jord’s voice is unfairly small and Aimeric gets up from bed, goes to sit beside him and takes his hand, Jord squeezes back. The tender act betrays what comes out of his mouth next.

“Is that it, Jord? Or have you tired from playing savior? Poor little man, that’s what it is.” Jord tries to pull away, but Aimeric holds on as tight as he can, “oh yes, poor Jord. What will you tell everyone?”

“Aimeric.”

“Pitiful Jord, lived his barely-legal fantasy and wants to put his toys away now, isn’t that it?” He keeps his voice low, calm, understanding; as if he were comforting him. “You’ll go down to Delfeur and say what? That you didn’t get your big prize? That it wasn’t even worth it? I know what you’ll call Laurent,” it’s predictable, something with ice and a ‘bitch’ thrown in, Aimeric knows them all, “but what will you say of me, huh? Who will you tell first, Orlant?”

“You could go with me.”

“Oh, that’s even worse, do you want to play house, Jord? Want me to call you daddy?”

“I mean it, Aimeric.” Jord’s eyes are the saddest they’ve ever been, supplicating.

“You do want to play house then.” Aimeric fakes a laugh, it’s bitter to his own ears. But he knows that everything that he has just said rings true, Jord is nothing but a man and after all, Aimeric knows men well. He has said nothing but truths, so he lies now. “You want me to be your bride, have you forgotten, Jord?” It’s like Aimeric is holding a match, or standing upon a ledge or driving off a cliff. He’ll burn and drown and crash this, he won’t let Jord do it for him. “Forgotten yourself, Jord? Will you ask my father for my hand, then?”

It’s a low punch and he knows that he’s not fooling Jord, he doesn’t look hurt. He looks compassionate, like he’s pitying Aimeric and he feels furious, this breaks his heart more than Jord leaving. The fact that even now, Aimeric is something to be pitied.

“Do you honestly think that I would marry you, Jord? Or that Laurent would? Do you lie to yourself like that? What would my maman say about his son in law? Which groom’s father would have to pay for the wedding in this case? I guess mine.” He ignores where they’re sitting, inside of these ugly and rundown old walls. He doesn’t expect Jord to turn against him.

“Your parents wouldn’t attend the wedding, Aimeric. Nor your brothers. Who you’d marry wouldn’t matter.” It’s an open wound, his family’s abandonment still aches. “What do you think you’re doing, Aimeric? I’m offering you a way out.”

“To me? Or to us both?” Laurent outside in the cold, waiting for him and Jord to make the decision instead.

“Aimeric.” It’s a ridiculous thought, that he and Laurent would separate just for some man that thinks he can fix them, take them away like some romance novel. And it’s Jord, of all men.

And that Aimeric would leave this, the neighbor’s dog that greets him when he gets home from class, the old grocer that always looks disgusted whenever he walks into his shop, the cat that keeps pissing on the empty plant pots downstairs, the sunny patch that covers the bed in the mornings, the teacher that adds one too many exclamation points to every email, the grouchy Laurent late at night.

Leave all that he has chosen, built for himself. He’s no fool, he knows why Jord would think that Aimeric wants to move out and away, but it couldn’t be farther from the truth. Laurent and this shitty shoebox apartment has given him everything that he wants: free will, if he wanted to, he could go back home right now or stay here until he dies, he could drop out of university or get a doctorate, he could do anything. It’s a heady feeling, being able to do whatever he wants or doesn’t want, bake a cake just to throw it away, leave every tab open in his computer, let every bowl and plate sit in the sink for days, stay awake until dawn. All the little things that he had never been able to do.

Drop all of it to lock himself away with Jord, who could leave him just like he’s leaving now, when he tires of his fits and his sobs, his nightmares. Aimeric knows what he is, and what he will always be. Jord will tire of him and he’ll have nothing, if he gives all of this up. Aimeric feels tears roll down his cheeks and he refuses to look away from Jord, he needs to know.

“Why are _you_ leaving me?”

“Aimeric, I’m not.”

“You are, why, Jord, why?”

“I am not leaving you, I’m asking you to go with me.” Jord intertwines his fingers and closes his eyes, defeated. He’s holding the hand with the scar that matches Laurent’s. “Or I could wait for you, too. If you wanted to.”

“I’m not leaving Arles.” He is not. Aimeric is staying here. He’ll finish his degree and find a good job and buy some house and he’ll _live_ , force Laurent to get out of this slum and they might go to therapy or adopt a cat or they’ll go their own ways. Maybe Aimeric will starve himself to death, or Laurent will get himself killed, or they will die of a heart attack when they’re ninety, or a car will run over him tomorrow. Whatever he could have here it’s better than what he knows he will get in Marlas.

He loves Jord, loves him the most. But not enough to let himself be wrecked by him, to be kicked to the curb like a dog, like his parents did to him. To be used by him, like he has been before. He’ll stay here.

“I could wait too. You could come back.”

“There’s nothing for me in Arles, never has been.” Aimeric is here, and he knows that Jord loves him, and that it’s not enough either. If he’ll get something out of this, it won’t be a goodbye, he doubts he could take it. He stands up, squeezes Jord’s hand one last time.

“I’m staying, Jord.” The man tries to pull him in, wraps his arms around his waist. This, more than anything, breaks his heart. That he cannot give Jord what he wants, not even in this moment. He pushes him away, walks out of the door himself, climbs up the stairs to the roof.

Laurent’s back is to him, fingers holding a cigarette, he turns around at the sound of Aimeric’s footsteps. His face is impassive, serene. Aimeric remembers last week, when Laurent had broken one of Auguste’s childhood toys he had brought with him when they moved in, it was a small horse figurine. His hands had been shaking too much to hold it properly. Laurent had thrown his stash away then and Aimeric is sure that the withdrawals will be torturing him in no time, no matter how much Laurent tries to hold it in, or to hide them from him. Aimeric wonders how they’ll get through it.

“That was quick.”

It had felt like an eternity. “Was it?” Laurent’s eyes are searching, even if the rest of his face is still. He and Jord had understood each other better, even if Aimeric had been closer to the both of them, separately. Laurent will miss Jord, he’s sure of it.

“He’s leaving, you heard.”

“And you?”

“I’m staying.” Now, his face is full of pity, just as Jord's had been. Aimeric looks away and Laurent lights another cigarette, passes it to him, pulls him close to guard the freezing wind off. He had forgotten to bring a jacket with him, but Laurent’s coat is warm enough.

“I’m sorry, Aimeric.” They hear the echo of the building’s door shutting closed. It bounces up the stairs, rings in their ears. “All his shit is still in there.”

“Fuck.”

“Well, do you want to have a little Blank Space moment?” It pulls a hysterical laugh out of Aimeric, and he keeps laughing until he cries, ugly sobs that make his lungs hurt. Laurent lays his head on his shoulder and they stay like that until Aimeric is done, wrung out. Until the blond presses their foreheads together and Aimeric lets out a shaky breath.

“It’ll be alright, Aimeric, you’ll be alright.” He doubts it.

**Author's Note:**

> lol I know I said I would write fluff for this series and that it would be finished by now, but! I! Could! Not! Resist!
> 
> Also don't feel bad for Jord, why are men so obsessed with dating younger partners with unresolved trauma??? Pick up a hobby instead or something idk. Feel sorry for Orlant, who showed up the next morning to pick up Jord's clothes.
> 
> Find me on tumblr as @arsaces-undone (or @rmayuscula).


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